


No Rest for the Really, Really Busy

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Multi, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like she’s trying to make herself worse, honestly. Jemma just has too much to do for something like a little headache to get in the way of her work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Rest for the Really, Really Busy

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt: "Jemma is a hellhound when the other two are injured/sick, but refuses to leave work when she is. Bobbi literally has too pick her up like a kitten and the two physically force her to lay down and rest."

In safe spaces, Bobbi was fine broadcasting when she was sick. Of course she would still get her work done as long as she was standing and not contagious, but she did so in slippers, with a blanket draped heavily over her shoulders and tissues sticking out of the pocket of her hoodie. She held no qualms about showing her weak moments, trusting that all the agents knew she was just as human and as fallible as the rest of them.

So she would complain about how she was dying all whilst barking orders at lab techs from the corner, or sniffle pitifully as she cleaned her guns on the kitchen table. Waiting, more or less, for Jemma to find her and sweep her back into bed. For Jemma to worry over her with thermometers and hot soup, and smooth her hair back from her forehead as she fell asleep.

When Jemma was taking care of her, Bobbi didn’t mind getting sick.

Fitz was much quieter about the whole affair. He’d been used to taking care of himself when he was sick since he was a child, and ignoring the complaints of his own body for hours on end, so it was harder for the others to tell when Fitz was coming down with something. Sometimes it was just a dusting of sweat on his forehead, or reaching out to touch the wall when he suddenly felt woozy.

Jemma, of course, could always tell straight away, sometimes even before Fitz could. She’d bring him juice and medicine in the lab, fetch his favorite sweater when he got the chills, covertly take his weight as he stood, all the while watching him like a hawk for the possibility of his illness getting worse. And as soon as it did she’d be upon him, dragging him away from the others and his work and making sure he was properly rested and hydrated and comfortable.

Fitz didn’t need to be coddled. He could take care of himself just fine, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy it when Jemma took care of him instead.

Jemma, on the other hand, turned into a boulder when she was sick.

Stone faced, stubborn as a rock—all the common metaphors applied. By the time anyone knew she was sick she was probably already at critical levels of illness, the kind that would have demanded a hospital if they didn’t have state of the art medical equipment on base.

She’d been that way as long as Fitz had known her. She once sat through an exam with a burst appendix because she wasn’t in enough pain to have forgotten any of the answers (she fainted afterwards, and the teacher tried to give her five extra credit points, which she graciously refused).

She didn’t always do it on purpose. It was easy to recognize signs of sickness in others, but less so for Jemma to recognize them in herself. It always seemed to sneak up on her, she would be fine until she was very suddenly not, but too entrenched in a task to stop and evaluate it. And once she did there were always other explanations. Maybe she stood up too fast. Maybe she had a bad breakfast. Maybe her cycle was off. Maybe she was on the edges of a panic attack. Nothing she came up with typically justified skimping on work in her eyes, so she would dive back in and forget about whatever symptoms were trying to push their way to her attention.

On this particular day it was a bad headache and swimming vision, an uncomfortable stuffiness under her lab coat, and rolling stomach that didn’t seem pleased no matter if it was full or not.

Someone probably put chives in the potatoes, which she’d eaten the leftovers of for breakfast. She was allergic to chives. It was the easiest explanation for her symptoms, but there was nothing to do but wait them out and occasionally take a puff of her inhaler to see if it might take away the tightness in her throat (it didn’t). So she kept on working, rushing samples back and forth despite feeling like the floor might slip out from under her, typing away even when she couldn’t quite see the letters on the screen.

She had just hunched down in her chair, overcome by a dizzy spell, when she spotted Fitz pulling Bobbi into the lab, brows knit with concern. He waved vaguely in her direction as he whispered to Bobbi, the other hand clenched in the material of her sleeve, whole body looking tense and on alert. Great, he’d ratted her out. Jemma tried not to roll her eyes, worried it might make the room spin even worse than it was.

Bobbi marched over to her despite Fitz’s hastily whispered warnings, looking concerned and thunderous and much larger than Jemma remembered.

“Are you sick?” she asked, cutting right to the point. Fitz slapped his forehead.

“I thank you for your concern, but I’m feeling perfectly well, thanks. If you don’t mind I’d like to get back to my work now.” Jemma turned back to her desk, primly ignoring the dark spots that hovered near her reports.

She heard Bobbi shift, and Fitz’s lowered voice. “She gets really formal when she doesn’t feel well.”

“I feel fine,” she snapped, and then pulled her lips into a thin smile to head off any more arguments. She was more than fine enough to keep on working, and in any case there was nothing they could do about it.

“You almost fell over earlier, don’t think I didn’t see that,” Fitz snapped back, “And your hands are shaking too—I told you she would do this, she always does this—when are you going to just admit-”

“Jemma,” Bobbi interrupted, voice firm, “we’re both really worried about you. Why don’t you get Lincoln to give you a quick check over, and if he clears you then you can get back to work, and if not you can just rest for a little while? I know it would make the both of us feel a lot better.”

Jemma gave an impatient huff, still not turning around to face them. “I don’t need Lincoln to check me over, I’m fine. I’m wasting time as it is, now please if you’ll excuse me-“

Bobbi laid her hand on Jemma’s neck, and she couldn’t help the shiver that rose out of her at the touch, despite the warmth that flushed her chest and cheeks.

“Yeah, she feels really warm,” Bobbi confirmed, kneeling down and spinning Jemma’s chair so that they were facing each other, looking carefully at her face before reaching out a hand to lay on her cheek, thumb stroking lightly. Her hand was so cold and nice that it was all Jemma could do to not lean into it. “Pupils dilated a little differently, too. Do you have a headache?”

“I have too much to do,” Jemma almost whined, “I’ve got tests to run on three bio weapons we confiscated from Hydra, DNA analyses to run on the new Inhumans, tweaks to make to Daisy’s gloves, I haven’t even started on Joey’s-“

“Hey,” Bobbi soothed, smiling a little as Jemma finally gave up and leaned into Bobbi’s hand. “You’ll get to all that when you can, but right now I think it’s more important that you take care of yourself.”

Jemma shook her head, then cut herself off with a small groan. She levered a breath carefully out of her nose, trying to tamper down the bit of nausea that had arisen with the motion. “It’s not.”

“You’re just going to make yourself worse, hun.”

She turned a pleading look on Fitz instead, hoping he would understand. “Fitz please, I just have too much going on right now.”

He huffed a sigh, rubbing at his neck. He looked around at all the lab techs who were purposefully ignoring them, trying not to meet her gaze. Finally he glanced to the floor, scuffing at it with his shoe. “Fine.”

There was only a moment for a thrill of victory to go through Jemma before Bobbi nodded, stood, and scooped her out of her chair with one smooth motion. Jemma gave a little shriek, automatically clinging to the front of Bobbi’s shirt.

“What are you doing?” It came out as one long word, eyes wide with apprehension.

Bobbi took a second to readjust before heading out of the lab, arms steady around Jemma’s back and under her knees. “You always take care of us,” she said, voice softening, “Now we’re going to take care of you.”

“Since you obviously aren’t going to do it yourself,” Fitz grumbled, and Bobbi shot him a look. “What? She didn’t really leave us a choice.”

Jemma let her head rest against Bobbi’s chest, eyes closing against the rocking of her steps. “I’ve too much to do,” she tried to argue again, but it sounded pitiful even to her ears.

“We’re taking care of that, too,” Bobbi assured her.

Fitz opened the door to Jemma’s bedroom, and Bobbi set her gently on the bed, pulling the covers up over her legs before Jemma had even managed to blink open her eyes. The lamp was on, but the lights were off, and she could smell the soup and warm bread that sat enticingly on her nightstand.

“Oh, you two,” Jemma whispered, unsure if she wanted to cry from the pain in her head or adoration at how hard they were trying. Maybe both. It felt like a ‘both’ kind of day.

Bobbi prompted her to lift her arms and peeled off Jemma’s lab coat and blouse, and then slipped one of her own hoodies over Jemma’s head, which was hilariously oversized but always made Jemma feel better. Fitz plucked something off the chair and handed it to her, which she recognized upon touching the worn fabric as the monkey plush toy she’d won him at the fair their first year at the academy. She cradled it to her chest, sniffling slightly.

Adoration, then. Adoration was definitely winning out.

(The sharp jabs behind her skull were already fading, anyway.)

Bobbi toed off her shoes before crawling under the covers at the foot of the bed, sitting propped against the wall as she removed Jemma’s sneakers and started rubbing her feet. Fitz sat on top of the blankets next to Jemma, raising a hand to rub her back, thumb working just behind her shoulder blade where she always got knots.

“Do you want to eat or sleep first?” He asked, looking relaxed now that they were all settled.

Jemma leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. He moved his arm to circle her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Maybe we could just sit for a few minutes?”

“Whatever you want,” Bobbi agreed. Both of them pretended not to notice the two tears that leaked across the bridge of her nose and onto Fitz’s sweater.

“I don’t know what I do to deserve you two,” she mumbled, throat feeling tight again, though now for different reasons.

Fitz chuckled. “Believe me Jemma, you do plenty.”

Jemma wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, the monkey squished between them. As the minutes passed Jemma forgot all about the work that could be piling up in the lab, forgot the anxiety that seemed to always be thrumming in her chest. She just let the soft words of two of her favorite people wash over her, a pleasant buzz to balance the full feeling in her head, and eventually fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Still taking prompts at my tumblr buckysbears!


End file.
